


astronomy in reverse

by wellthatdepends



Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Diners, Alternate Universe - Flower Shop, Angst, F/M, Fluff, Reunions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-22
Updated: 2020-11-22
Packaged: 2021-03-10 05:27:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,522
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27668177
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wellthatdepends/pseuds/wellthatdepends
Summary: "What do you have that says ‘sorry I nearly got you suspended because I decided to extract vigilante justice?’”orfive times Diego and Lila meet for the first time and the one time they don't.
Relationships: Diego Hargreeves/Lila Pitts
Comments: 17
Kudos: 44





	astronomy in reverse

**Author's Note:**

> \- Title taken from 'Venus' by Sleeping at Last
> 
> \- Fair warning, I may revisit some of these AUs in the future. This was a lot of fun to write. xx

_1._

His name is Diego and he won’t shut up about JFK.

It’s stupid, he’s stupid, this blind date is _stupid_ , but her mother has set her up with worse men and at least this one is nice to look at.

“What is it you do again?” Lila narrows her eyes, because she’s sure that _Dead President Fanboy_ wasn’t what he said earlier.

“I’m a history professor,” he reminds her, with a quirk of his head, “remember? And then you said if you had a history professor that looked like me, you might not have failed remedial school.”

“Yeah,” Lila nods, eying him up and down appreciatively, taking in his leather jacket that fits him oh so well and the scar that hints at something a little bit dangerous, “yeah, that’s right. I did say that, didn’t I?”

Diego smirks, leaning in closer.

“So, no JFK,” he comments, almost like he can read her mind, “got it. So, Lila Pitts, tell me more about being head of campus security?”

“Oh, it’s the best!” She perks up, (finally, a topic she can get behind), “I mean, have you ever tasered someone before? The drunk ones absolutely wet themselves! And - wait, why are you looking at me like that?”

 _Like that_ being a mix of amusement and disbelief and it doesn’t sit well with her, the idea that this man might be laughing at her or think she’s-

“You’re kind of crazy, aren’t you?”

_Oh, he just didn’t…_

“I mean, I wasn’t the one going on about a dead guy for fifteen minutes, but, yeah, sure, why the fuck not? I’m the _crazy_ one!” Lila snaps, throwing her napkin down on the table, ready to storm off because this guy has absolutely-

“I saw you around mid-terms, you know, when that post-grad had an absolute meltdown in the quad and was waving around that cap gun - and it was clearly a cap gun, anyone could see it.” Diego’s tale of her own actions makes her stop and listen, albeit warily. “The other security guys didn’t have a fucking clue, and they’re trying to talk him down and calling for back up, but you, Lila, you came sprinting across the quad and just _crash-tackled_ the kid, never mind that he had, like 100 pounds and and an extra foot on you. You just took him down like it was nothing. And I _knew_ I had to get to know you.”

- _impeccable_ taste. 

“Yeah,” Lila settles back in her chair, fixing him with a bright smile, “I did do that, didn’t I?”

“Coolest thing I ever saw.”

“Well, you’re a history professor,” Lila teases, “the bar is probably already pretty low.”

“Well then,” Diego leans forward, elbows pressing into the table, “we might just need a second date to find out, won’t we?”

Yeah. She reckons they might.

_2._

“You’re insane, you know that?” he exhales between kisses, “I don’t even know your name.”

“I’m Lila,” she licks a strip along the side of his neck, “nice to meet you, too.”

He’s been working here a week, at this diner in the middle of fucking no where. Dayshift, until the owner - some fancy woman they call _The Handler,_ whodoesn’t even work there, just breezes in from time to time - tells him he’s ready for nights. He’s not concerned; this isn’t his first diner, isn’t his first night shift, and he finds that they’re usually all the same. The same customers, the same food, the same mind-numbing boredom. 

Nothing he can’t handle.

Until he meets _Lila_.

Well, he doesn’t meet her, so to speak.

She arrives after the night shift rush. _The Handler’s daughter_ , one of the waitresses tells-slash-warns him and it makes sense, once he starts observing her at work. She is impatient and bored and spends most of her shift sitting in one of the booths reading magazines and occasionally serving customers when she feels like it.

(One customer asks her for more coffee and she just _waves_ him towards the counter with a curt “ _Decaf’s on the right, go nuts.”_ ) 

She’s hot though. Wears all black, not the usual dresses the other waitresses wear. And when she finally notices him, while he’s sharpening the appallingly dull kitchen knives, she’s quick to pounce.

“You’re new,” she saunters over, leaning against the door. 

“First week,” he spins the knife in his hands, sheafing it with practiced ease, “promoted already.”

“Nice skills, knife boy,” she smirks, “so why are you here and not at, like, a _real_ restaurant.”

“This is real enough,” he shrugs, “why are you here _at all_?”

“Can’t sleep,” she grins, baring her teeth, “this keeps me out of trouble.”

A pause. 

“ _Sometimes_.”

It’s natural, the way he presses her up against the cold room door, as natural as the way her hands curl around the neck of his apron, pulling him closer, kissing him deeper. The way she hitches her leg around his hip until he decides _fuck it_ and grabs her by the thighs, lifting her so she can wrap her legs around him.

Her name is Lila. 

_Lila, Lila, Lila_ and he doesn’t even realise he’s saying her name aloud until she tells him to _shut up and kiss her_.

“Where did you even come from?” he breathes and she barks a laugh, fingers shifting from his apron to his hair.

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

He nips at her bottom lip.

“Try me.”

Something about his words causes her mood to shift. She untangles her legs, slides down so she’s standing firmly on the ground. She’s quick to put some distance between them and the look on her face can only be described as _guilt_.

“What do you call yourself?” she asks and the phrasing makes him pause. She looks sad, looks disappointed, fingers curling around her wrist, tracing an object that doesn’t exist. 

“I’m Michael...Lila, are you okay?”

“You should leave, you - you don’t want to work here Dieg- _Michael_. Believe me, the next town over has a much better diner and their cook is a drunk so you’re a shoo-in, for sure. Just...just get out of here.”

“Wait, are you firing me?” he asks angrily, “This is bullshit, you kissed _me_!”

“Oh my god,” she laughs incredulously, “you’re an idiot _too_. Look, _Michael_ , in another timeline, we would be _epic_. But this is not it. So do yourself a favour, and _leave_ , before it’s too late.”

This isn’t his first diner. This isn’t his first nightshift. But it’s not like _any_ he’s ever worked before.

So after his shift he packs his shit and leaves and never comes back.

(He dreams about Lila for a long time after.)

_3._

Lila’s pretty sure she’s going to get fired.

Her Mum is dead. Well, the woman who murdered her parents - this she found out at the funeral, when AJ Carmichael pulled her aside and gently told her (as gently as a goldfish can) that her real parents death was a hit job resulting from a directive that the Handler forged. Which they let go at the time, because it was done, and Lila was so young, and the board decided that if the Handler 'acquiring’ Lila was for the good of the Commission, then they’d allow it. 

( _“We want to express our sincerest regrets and sympathies for your loss. Losses. Our employee assistance program is at your disposal.”_ )

And so what if she took extra ‘compassionate’ leave? Human Resources can fuck right off.

When she returns to work, she comes to the conclusion that she’s a pretty shitty assassin. Turns out her mother gave her easy jobs; sketchy people who deserved it. Killing innocent people isn’t easy and after they give her a _child_ , she starts looking for loopholes in the timeline.

So yeah, there’s suspension. And then there’s therapy. 

Lila _hates_ therapy. 

It’s the same thing every fucking week; some old man asking her about her relationship with her mother and she feels like the biggest cliche in the Commission.

And group...don’t even get her started on group therapy.

So imagine her surprise when she walks into group and Diego Hargreeves (yeah, _that_ Diego Hargreeves) is sitting next to her usual spot, scowling at anyone that comes close to him.

When she slides into her seat his scowl shifts to her and softens into…

 _Oh_. He’s checking her out.

And who can blame him? The Commission is permanently stuck in the nineteen fifties, and because she’s on office duties, she has to dress the part. Girdles and pencil skirts and everything is so goddamn _tight_. He must be a man with a nylon fetish because when she crosses her legs his pupils dilate and it’s cute, how he thinks he’s being subtle, but he’s, like, _not_. 

Neither of them speak for the session. She passes like she usually does, and he follows suit. After, there’s mediocre coffee and the _best_ cookies she’s ever had in her life so she sticks around and stuffs as many into her purse that’ll fit. 

“Gonna save some for the rest of us?”

Diego Hargreeves is smirking at her. Upon closer inspection, he’s definitely handsome. Definitely her type, too; dark, mysterious, tortured. Slightly too serious for his own good. 

Yeah, he’ll be _fun_. 

“Ya snooze ya lose, Diego Hargreeves,” she breezes, snapping her purse closed. She does present him with a cookie, which he takes, eyes narrowing suspiciously.

“How do you know my name?”

“I know everything about you,” she flirts, tilting her head to the side, grinning, “why you’re here though…”

“I have a problem with authority,” he states roughly and she brushes it off with a casual shrug.

“Who doesn’t?” she breezes, extending her now cookie-free hand, “Lila. Commission Assassin. Tried to change the timeline.”

“Diego,” he replies, taking it gently in his, “Commission Security. Punched my boss.”

“Well, Diego,” Lila notes how he’s slow to drop her hand, “how about we get a drink? I know a great pub in London we could go to - we can _not_ talk about our problems and I’ll _maybe_ let you beat me at darts.”

“Let me?” Diego raises an eyebrow, “I thought you said you knew who I am?”

“Oh, sure,” Lila smirks, “but you have no idea who _I_ am.”

(For the record, she doesn’t let him win. But she _does_ let him take her home.

And just as she suspected, he’s a _lot_ of fun.)

_4._

It’s a futile gesture. This much he knows.

But, hell, Diego has to at least _try_. 

“I’m sorry, Eudora,” he mutters, making his way up the precinct steps, “I fucked up, _again_ , but I’m sorry-”

Shit. He can’t show up empty handed. Not _again_. 

“Flowers,” he mumbles, quickly backtracking, jogging down and around the block. There’s a small florist next to a diner favoured by the precinct called _Lila’s_. He’s never been in - never been big on gifts, more a man of action, and when he enters the small shop, he’s surprised to find it on the busier side. 

So he waits. And waits. And sighs audibly as he slowly moves closer to the counter, glancing at his phone because Eudora’s shift will be over soon and he was hoping to catch her while she was still there, in a place where she couldn’t brush him off with a _I told you, Diego, it’s over. We’re done._

Just like that. 

So he’s here. Impatiently waiting to buy what he’s sure will be a bunch of overpriced, half-wilted flowers. If he ever gets some fucking service.

“Next!”

He’s the only one in the shop and the girl - woman - is glaring at him. Her expression is one he is all too familiar with.

She’s _pissed_. 

“Let me guess,” she smarts, “your girlfriend is mad at you because you have no fucking _patience_.”

It catches him off guard and he looks at her - really looks at her. She’s not the type he’d expect to work in a flower shop. Black clothes, black rimmed eyes. Choppy fringe. Scowl. 

Oddly, it relaxes him, so he throws her a smirk.

“That and other things. What do you have that says ‘sorry I nearly got you suspended because I decided to extract vigilante justice?’”

“You’re a cop?” She asks, annoyance making way for curiosity.

“When I’m not suspended.”

“And what, when you are, you’re Batman?”

“Without the money and the gadgets.”

The woman grins, leaning against the counter. He’s pretty sure she’s flirting with him. Hell, he’s pretty sure he’s flirting back.

“Bummer, I like a man with gadgets.”

“But not a man with money?”

“Of course I do, but I’m not about to put that on a dating profile,” she smirks, eyes bright.

(Yeah, he’s definitely flirting.)

“I don’t think you need a dating app to meet people,” Diego murmurs, stepping closer to the counter, bumping it with his hip.

“No, I usually meet them when they’re buying apology flowers for their girlfriend-”

“-Ex-girlfriend,” Diego interrupts, “buying apology flowers for my _ex_ -girlfriend.”

“That’s sweet,” the woman coos, teasingly, “what do you buy your _actual_ girlfriend then?”

“Whatever she wants.”

“Good answer, Batman,” the woman grins, “really good answer.”

Diego doesn’t end up buying any flowers, but he leaves the shop with a phone number and a date and the excitement of a new beginning. 

_5._

Lila is sixteen and she doesn’t want to be here.

 _Here_ being a dance class. Here being with five other kids her age, who must be part of some fancy private school based on the uniforms they’re wearing. 

Except it’s not just that; they’re siblings, she discovers early on. Biting barbs and caustic comments and they walk in squabbling and complaining until they notice her existence.

There’s a girl; curly haired and confident who approaches her first.

“Are you in this class too?”

Lila nods, brushing a loose wave of hair behind her ear. Her mother was so careful to select every detail of her appearance; from her styled hair to her designer dress to her red heels that pinch in a way that makes her want to burn them. It must have worked the way she intended; judging by the way the boys stare at her, slack-jawed and blushing, and the curly haired girl’s eyes narrow, flashing with jealousy. 

“Yeah,” she nods, “I’m Laura.”

Oh yeah, another thing. Her mother gave her a fake name.

That wasn’t weird at all.

But Lila realises her life isn’t typical. She’s spent enough time alone and bored, turning to television for company. Sixteen year old girls should be going to parties and school and falling in and out of love. Not mastering different types of martial arts and dodging bullets and shooting to kill.

The other girl offers no introductions. And it isn’t until they are paired up, that her dance partner offers up a single piece of information.

“D-Diego. Um, that’s my name.”

He’s not confident, not suave. But he’s only sixteen; she figures that will come later. Right now, he’s cute enough and Lila likes his scar. So if she’s got to hold his hand for the next couple of hours, she won’t be complaining.

“Laura.” Lila flashes him a grin. “That’s _my_ name.”

Their dance teacher focuses on them the most. Throws casual corrections at the others, but for her and Diego, she zeroes in, correcting holds, pushing them closer together. He’s not a novice (neither is she), but he’s less comfortable with the romance dances, less practiced, which makes sense, when his dance partners would usually be his sisters.

For every criticism, every correction, he grows more frustrated. His brothers snicker behind their hands when the teacher tells him not to be _afraid_ of her. Which is funny, because that’s exactly what he _should_ be.

This isn’t a competition, but she feels like she’s losing. And Lila _doesn’t_ lose. 

“Hey,” she whispers, while the instructor is busy with who she has learned is Luther and Allison (who dance a _bit_ too close for two people who are, like, siblings), “you should kiss me.”

“Wh-what?” he sputters, and she sighs impatiently.

“When we do the dip,” she explains, rolling her eyes, “she’s looking for passion. Romance. I’m not your bloody sister, so don’t hold me like I am.”

With a flash of his eyes, his demeanor shifts. She’s issued him a challenge that he’s very clearly accepted. His hand wraps around hers tighter, his arm dips lower. He doubts himself for a second, but she presses closer, a warning in her voice.

“Don’t think, just _act_.”

When the music starts again, she’s acutely aware of an audience. Her Mum stands off to the side, next to a blonde lady, who she’s guessing is _their_ Mum (however that works). Diego leads with a newfound certainty and Lila follows. Their pacing is perfect, footwork graceful and purposeful. He spins her out and pulls her back and Lila looks into his eyes as his hands trail down her arms. His calloused fingers graze her wrists before he catches her hand in his and tugs her back into a dance hold. She hears the instructor shouting praise, and yeah, she knows they’ve got this, in the confidence of his hold and his genuine smile. And she can’t help but bestow him with one as well; flirty and coy, and when he dips her, it’s with firm hands and a surprising ease.

Her hand lifts from his shoulder to trace along his scar.

“Kiss me, stupid.”

And he does. And it’s sweet and soft and he’s probably never kissed anyone before, but that’s alright because neither has she. Just the press of lips, lingering only slightly, and then she’s upright again, giggling in his hold.

Their instructor is applauding and his mother is beaming and her mother...

“Laura! Time to go!”

“Next week?” Diego asks, voice hopeful as he slowly drops her hand.

“Next week,” she lies.

Lila knows her mother. She won’t be coming back.

+1 

He’s not sure how she finds him.

It's taken awhile, he gathers, based on her expression; impatience and _relief_ , like this isn’t the first place she looked, like there’s been a lot of places she’s looked and while it wasn’t the easiest for him to just _wait_ , he imagines it’s a different kind of frustration to spend so much time searching but coming up short.

Nevertheless, she _finds_ him.

 _And_ his siblings. _And_ his father. _And_ the Sparrow Academy. 

“What the actual hell is this?” she scoffs, warily observing everyone, gripping the briefcase tightly.

“Well, now it’s hell,” Five mutters, “everyone, Lila. Lila, everyone.”

“Young lady,” their father frowns, unimpressed by the interruption “what is the meaning of this? Where did you come from?”

“None of your business, old man,” she rolls her eyes, dismissively, “I’m here for Diego.”

All eyes swing towards him; varying levels of surprise and disbelief and anger. 

His eyes, however, are on _her_.

“ _Lila_ ,” he breathes, taking a step towards her, “where have you _been_?”

“Here, there, everywhere,” she breezes, but it’s a fake confidence, uncertainty bleeding through the casualness of her tone. 

A beat. A pause.

“I didn’t know if I should come back.” 

And then quietly -

“I didn’t know if you _wanted_ me to come back. After everything.”

Here’s the thing about _after_ ; Diego was never mad at her. After the barn, after Five told him what went down, _the first time_ , all he wanted was for her to be okay. In whatever timeline she was in. And after that, all he wanted was for her to come back to him.

“That’s all I wanted, Lila. _You’re_ all I want.”

It’s probably too much. Okay, it’s definitely too much; someone murmurs _Jesus Christ_ behind them and he doesn’t know if it’s one of his siblings or one of the Sparrows, but right now, cards on the table, he means it. Means it more than anything.

(They haven’t always been truthful with each other, but he swore if he ever saw her again, that’s all he would be.)

Lila sniffs. Rolls her shoulder. Bites her lip. And softly, barely a whisper:

“You’re all I want, too.”

In two strides he’s in front of her, hands framing her cheeks, kissing her like it’s the first time, last time, in a way he always wanted to, in a way he didn’t think he would again. She throws her arms around him, and he ignores the way the corners of her case dig into his back and focuses on the way her hand grips his hair and her lips move under his and how her cheeks are damp under his hands.

“Diego,” she pulls away, breathing heavily, “how did you idiots manage to screw up your timeline?”

“It’s a long story,” he sighs, brushes her hair behind her ears, “and I’ll tell you later. After we save the world.”

Lila groans, unimpressed. 

“Seriously, again? I’m starting to think you lot are just being overdramatic, who needs to save the world _that_ many times? And why are these grown adults wearing school uniforms?”

Diego chuckles. God, he missed her.

(He’s never letting her go.)


End file.
